


Beauty in the Eyes of the Subject

by OutlawLord



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist!oikawa, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, but it's very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutlawLord/pseuds/OutlawLord
Summary: Oikawa loves drawing. He also loves Iwa-chan.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 92
Collections: Because our babies deserve the world





	Beauty in the Eyes of the Subject

Oikawa is five and he loves crayons. He also loves Iwa-chan. The other boy had introduced himself as Iwaizumi Hajime, and his parents always say it is impolite to call a person by their given name. Iwaizumi. What a mouthful. Iwa-chan is so much easier to say. It's cuter, too.

Iwa-chan is outside, running around with a net, trying to catch a butterfly. Oikawa grabs his favorite crayon box, and, with chubby fingers, pulls out the black one, the one his mommy hates because his hands always get so dirty but "How else am I gonna draw Iwa-chan's hair?"

Iwa-chan is running around, gripping the net's handle tightly, a look of absolute concentration that only a child can have taking over his face. Oikawa presses the black crayon to a white sheet of paper, coloring in Iwa-chan's spiky hair. He then grabs a crayon labeled "peach" and makes a circle with it, right under the spiky hair. Switching back to the black, Oikawa draws his best friend's eyes. He grabs the red crayon from the box, too, and scratches in his perpetual scowl.

Iwa-chan comes into Oikawa's house, sweaty but happy.

"Did you catch the butterfly?" Oikawa asks. Iwa-chan grins proudly and nods. Oikawa claps his hands, genuinely amazed at his friend's athletic tendencies.

"What did you draw?" Iwa-chan asks as he wipes the sweat from his brow on his T-shirt. Oikawa wrinkles his nose in disgust before processing the question. He then smiles excitedly.

"I drew my favorite person in the world!" Oikawa declared, overdramatically slapping his drawing onto the table. Iwa-chan looks at it and makes sounds of amazement.

Iwa-chan asks, "Is it me?"

"Yeah," Oikawa mumbles shyly. Then he leans over to whisper in Iwa-chan's ear, "Don't tell my mommy or daddy though, because they'll be sad."

"Okay," Iwa-chan says. He stares at the drawing for a few more seconds, then says, "You should let me keep it. Because if your mommy and daddy find it, they'll find out that I'm your favorite anyway."

Oikawa thinks about it for a few seconds, but ultimately pushes the paper across the table to Iwa-chan.

"Take good care of it," Oikawa says with a glare. "Pinky promise."

Iwa-chan wraps Oikawa's extended pinky in his own and declares, "I pinky promise to take good care of it." They smile at each other brightly.

"I wanna try catching a butterfly, too," Oikawa says after a few moments of silence. Iwa-chan grins widely before grabbing Oikawa's hand and pulling him outside.

Oikawa is ten years old, and he loves colored pencils. He also loves Iwa-chan. He knows by now that that isn’t something a boy should say to another boy, but he reasons with himself that as long as he never says it out loud, he can continue feeling it. Anyway, it’s not as if love is a bad thing. Everyone should love everyone, his mother always says.

Iwaizumi is playing with a weird looking ball, one that Oikawa’s never seen before, at least, not in his gym classes. Oikawa usually would take the moment to try and draw his friend, but this time, he abandons his beloved colored pencils at the table, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“What is that?” Oikawa asks, and Iwa-chan stops bumping the ball into the air.

“This,” he declares, holding the ball high like a king would his scepter, “is a volleyball!”

“What’s volleyball?” Oikawa asks dumbly. Iwa-chan’s eyes sparkle as if he’s been waiting for that question his entire life.

The spiky-haired boy rants, “Only the coolest sport ever! I watched my first game on TV last week, and yesterday I finally convinced my dad to buy me a ball! There was this guy on this team, and he would jump up, and then the ball would be in his hand and he would slam it down like pow! And the crowd would scream, and they won, and it was just the coolest thing I’d ever seen! I need to show you a volleyball game, I just know you’d think it’s awesome!”

Oikawa gets caught up in Iwa-chan’s excitement and screams, “That’s so cool! I’m gonna ask my dad for a volleyball, too! Maybe we can play together, on the same team!”

“That would be the best thing ever!” Iwa-chan shouts, and then Iwa-chan shows him what he was doing before Oikawa had come outside. Iwa-chan shows him how to bump the volleyball into the air, and even though they both suck, they keep at it until the sun is going down and they’re both called inside.

Oikawa washes his hands, dirty from Iwa-chan’s volleyball, which was covered in dirt by the time they were done with it, and then sits down at the table where his colored pencils and a blank sheet of paper are waiting.

He grabs the black colored pencil, outlining the spiky hair. He then pulls out the peach pencil, to form the shape of the face. He draws the eyes using a brown pencil. He draws a shirt with the black pencil, jeans with a blue pencil, and then arms with a peach pencil. The hands still look horrible, but Oikawa feels proud of them anyway.

Using the red, green, and black pencils, he carefully sketches a volleyball on the ground next to Iwa-chan’s feet. Iwa-chan is smiling at him from the drawing, and Oikawa can’t help but smile back.

Oikawa’s father comes home, and the first thing Oikawa says to him is, “Dad, can you get me a volleyball?”

Oikawa is fifteen and he loves lead pencils. He also loves Iwa-chan. Now he’s old enough to understand that his love for Iwa-chan is not as innocent as he used to think, old enough to be scared of his emotions. His mother always says, “Being gay is a sin.”

Iwa-chan is the ace of their middle school team, now that they’re third years. Oikawa is the main setter, but he can feel the first year so-called genius looming behind, ready to steal his spot from him. He can’t lose this position though; this position allows him to support Iwa-chan in the only way he knows how, allows him to stay by his side.

It’s a late night at practice, and Oikawa feels all the stress of high school entrance exams, school work, and trying his hardest to keep his position of main setter hit him all at once. It’s crippling, and he doesn’t know how he isn’t crying right now. He feels the tears burning in the back of his eyes, but he grits his teeth against it, grips his schoolbag tighter in his grasp. He ignores the concerned staring from Iwa-chan and makes to leave the gym.

“Oikawa-san,” calls the last person he wants to talk to. “Could you please show me how to do a jump serve?”

Oikawa sees red. The next thing he knows, Iwa-chan is shouting at him, angry, fuck, he’s fucked up, Iwa-chan’s angry at me, I’ve fucked up. He hates me. He doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not enough, not enough, not enough. This mantra continues in his head as he watches passively as Iwa-chan smiles apologetically at Kageyama, why is he smiling at him? Why is he so mad at me? He hates me, he fucking likes Kageyama and I almost hit him and Iwa-chan hates me.

“Is this about you somehow not being as good as Kageyama? Huh?” Iwa-chan yells in his face. “Well that’s bullshit, alright? You’re better than him in your own ways! How dare you discredit the hours of work you’ve put in to be as good as you are! How dare you try to criticize yourself! You’re amazing, Oikawa! You’re the best we have! There’s a reason you’re our main setter! Believe in yourself a little more, Oikawa! You’re so fucking good. So good.” Oikawa doesn’t notice he’s crying until Iwa-chan is wiping his tears away on the sleeve of his jacket, then pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re so good, dumbass,” Iwa-chan whispers while petting his hair. “So fucking good. Don’t ever put yourself down, okay? Don’t compare yourself to others. You’re so good.”

They stand there for god knows how long, Iwa-chan having been placed in charge of locking up the gym. Finally, Iwa-chan whispers, “Let’s go home, okay?” Oikawa hugs Iwa-chan closer, not wanting to leave the ace’s strong arms, but he eventually nods and pulls away, adjusting the bag on his shoulder before turning away and walking out the gym doors. Iwa-chan takes a minute to turn off the lights and lock the doors, but soon enough he’s next to Oikawa, and they’re walking home. Iwa-chan casually swings his arm around Oikawa’s shoulders as they walk, as if scared that he’s going to run away or something. Oikawa leans into the arm in what he hopes is an imperceptible way.

That night, he draws another sketch of Iwa-chan. He’s proud of how realistic they look, especially compared to his earlier drawings. He pays particular attention to his eyes, this time. Kind, but unforgiving in the face of Oikawa’s self-hatred. The crease in between Iwa-chan’s eyebrows as he yelled, You’re amazing, Oikawa! The burning passion, as if he believed every word of the bullshit spewing from his mouth.

Oikawa allows himself to daydream about Iwa-chan liking him back. Confessing to him. The crease between his brows, not because of anger, but because he always looks a little angry when he’s shy. He’d avoid eye contact while confessing, most definitely. Oikawa doesn’t actually know, of course; it’s more of a gut feeling. Iwa-chan would be blushing, and he’d scowl because he’d know his embarrassment is showing on his face. Oikawa comes to, and he’s got a sketch of Iwaizumi’s blushing face, staring somewhere off to the left, scowling like he doesn’t mean it. Oikawa smiles, but there’s teardrops falling onto the drawing, and it’s ruining the drawing a little bit. Oikawa can’t bring himself to care.

The next morning, when Oikawa finds the sketch where he left it on his desk, water stains visible but not too horrible, he stashes it at the bottom of his sock drawer. A reminder, Oikawa justifies to himself, of all the things Iwa-chan told me yesterday.

Oikawa is eighteen and he loves water-based paints. He also loves Iwa-chan. He’s accepted himself for what he is by now, accepted that living his truth would only result in estrangement from his family, and that that was a price he had to be ready to pay. “Leave,” his mother had said, “and come back when you find a girlfriend.”

Iwa-chan has become the ace of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team, too. Oikawa is still his setter. People say that he is the best high school setter in Miyagi, and he bears that title with pride, along with the attention he gets because of it.

As Oikawa heads to the gym for practice, some second-year girl confronts him, in the middle of the third floor hallway. “Oikawa-senpai,” she starts, blushing hard but staring resolutely at his eyes, “I like you. Please accept my feelings!”

Before Oikawa can even decline the offer, a group of girls wearing shirts with his face printed on them (and isn’t that just the most horrific thing he’s ever seen) approach her and start screaming, “How dare you try and steal Oikawa-san from us!” and “He’s communal property, for all to enjoy, you selfish bitch!”

Oikawa smartly sidesteps the entire situation, back on track to heading to the gym, when he sees Iwa-chan standing at the end of the hallway, glaring at him and tapping his foot impatiently. Oikawa realizes Iwa-chan had probably seen the entire thing go down, and smirks playfully at the other boy.

“Iwa-chan,” he calls, “let’s go to practice together!” Iwa-chan only huffs and turns away, but he obediently waits until Oikawa latches onto his arm.

“You didn’t actually tell her no,” Iwa-chan mumbles, and when Oikawa whips his head towards Iwa-chan in surprise, the spiker is glaring at the floor. Oikawa swallows his laughter.

“Aw, Iwa-chan, are you jealous?”

“So what if I am? You’re my boyfriend.”

Oikawa smiles blissfully, and hugs Iwa-chan’s arm closer to his body. The ace tugs back in response, and it becomes a little game of tug-of-war until they finally get to the changing room.

Iwa-chan is laughing. Oikawa memorizes every wrinkle of his eyes, the way his lips stretch into that youthful smile, full of genuine happiness.

That night, instead of doing his homework like Iwa-chan reminded him to before he dropped him off at the house where he lived with his paternal grandmother, he pulls out a new canvas and his paints. He dons the cute apron that Iwa-chan had gotten for him the year before, when he had first become obsessed with watercolor paintings. He first sketches out everything, completely from memory. He’s been staring at the same face for more than a decade, and been drawing it for almost just as long. By this point he has every last detail of Iwa-chan’s face memorized.

He’s a little messy with the watercolors, can’t quite control the paint as well as he’s seen some artists, but he likes it. It feels as if the painting has taken on a life of its own. This time, though, he purposefully colors outside the lines. Iwa-chan’s personality, his very existence, is larger than himself. The watercolors are light enough to see the pencil marks behind the paint. Iwa-chan’s face, mid-laugh, looking happy. Happy, because he’s with Oikawa. He smiles to himself.

Taped on the walls of his room are his favorite art pieces, mostly of Iwa-chan, some of Makki and Mattsun, and one of the Aoba Johsai volleyball team, from when he was a second-year. The one closest to Oikawa right now is a sketch of Iwa-chan that Oikawa made when he was fifteen, pining after Iwa-chan and terrified of rejection. He likes it because of how wrong younger Oikawa had been.

“I don’t like your fangirls,” Iwa-chan had said after practice one day, in their second year of high school.

“Why?” Oikawa had responded. “You jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan, all you had to do was ask, I will gladly share some girls with you!”

“No, you idiot,” Iwa-chan had all but growled. “I like you. I’m jealous of them. Stop hanging with them and date me.” He had stared straight at Oikawa, as if daring him to say no.

What else could he say but “Yes”?

This painting of Iwa-chan’s laugh is his masterpiece, though. Nothing he could ever draw would ever trump this, of that Oikawa is convinced. He checks the time, and finds that it is way too late to even try to get some sleep. He then thinks of Iwa-chan’s concerned face, his yelling, “Dumbass, you can’t go to practice like this! You’ll get seriously injured!” Oikawa shoves the apron off and throws himself onto bed. He can afford to go to school a little late. It’s not like he’s behind in his classes.

Oikawa is twenty-five and he’s opening his first art show, an amazing feat for an artist as young as him. He’s also moving in with Iwa-chan, into a small one-bedroom apartment. He’s the happiest he can ever remember being. His mother always used to say, “Being in love is like a wildfire that consumes everything; loving someone is a whole new kind of warmth that makes everything brighter.” Her funeral was two years ago, and Oikawa was surprised to receive an inheritance, and a letter apologizing to him for her words. He had been inconsolable for a whole month afterwards. Ironically, it was that grief that inspired his art, the bringer of his happiness.

After a long day organizing at the art venue, he comes home to Iwa-chan hard at work unpacking some more boxes. Well, he’s not unpacking as much as taking things out of boxes frantically, as if searching for something.

“Aha!” he shouts, pulling out a wooden frame. There’s something inside of it.

Oikawa says, “I’m home! What’re you so happy to have found?”

Iwa-chan hugs the picture close to his chest. “Promise you won’t laugh,” he whispers.

Oikawa tilts his head, confused. “I would never laugh. It’s obviously very important to you.”

Iwa-chan sighs, then hands him the frame, eyes averted. Oikawa accepts the object, then looks hard at it to find messy crayon scribbles. It’s so ugly, in that generic way every child’s artwork is, but he instantly recognizes it. Suddenly, he’s five years old again. His favorite thing in the world is his box of crayons. His favorite person is Iwa-chan. There is no such thing as death; they are all invincible. There is no such thing as hatred; he loves everyone, and everyone loves him. There is no fear, no shame; he proudly screams his love for his best friend in the entire world without a care for what anyone would think. He loves before he knows what the word even means.

He can’t believe Iwa-chan kept such an ugly drawing.

“Holy shit, Tooru, are you okay?” Iwa-chan’s hands caress his face, and Oikawa thinks, Oh, I’m crying.

“Yeah,” Oikawa forces out. “Yeah, I just… I love you so much. I’m so glad I love you. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I really, really love you, Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwa-chan turns red.

“Hey, what’s with the full name?”

“You know, there’s all these big things going on in my life right now, so what’s one more?”

“Tooru, what are you saying?”

Oikawa gets down on one knee. “This is very impulsive, so the only ring I have on me right now is the mood ring that I got from this gacha machine on the way home. I’ll replace it with a better, prettier one with all my art money soon, I promise.”

“Holy fucking shit, Tooru.”

“Will you marry me, Iwaizumi Hajime?”

“Yes. Yes, please, yes.” Now Iwa-chan is crying, too, and Oikawa slides the mood ring onto his fiance’s ring finger. They’re laughing, and hugging, and kissing, and it feels like all the years Oikawa’s spent loving his Iwa-chan, not quite knowing if he felt the same, years spent telling himself that he’s not good enough for Iwa-chan, all were building to this moment, Iwa-chan saying yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Oikawa is five, ten, fifteen, eighteen, twenty-five, fifty, eighty years old, and he loves, loves, loves Iwa-chan.


End file.
